


Salt in the Wound

by Southbroom



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 22:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12467520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southbroom/pseuds/Southbroom
Summary: How does a Capitol escort find her feet amongst the rebels? How does a lifelong drunk find release beyond his bottles? Mockingjay through the eyes of Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.





	Salt in the Wound

**Author's Note:**

> I could not help but imagine Mockingjay through the eyes of Effie Trinket. How would she feel about becoming a political refugee? How does District Thirteen change her? And most importantly, what happened between her and Haymitch that lead up to that goodbye kiss? If you're also curious, please stay.
> 
> This is my first LONG fan fiction with a real plot. So far I have written about 30 000 words for this fan fiction, but have not finished writing it. I do have a decent idea about the ending so please stick around for more. I (*cough*hope*cough*) plan to upload a chapter ever two weeks. I also need all the help and encouragement I can get so if this story means something to you, please let me know. If it's shit, I'd like to heard that too. :)
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song Salt in the Wound by Delta Spirit. This is one of my favourite bands and I feel this song perfectly reflects the mood I hope to achieve in this fic. Also the lyrics are amazing, so go and listen if you can.
> 
> A disclaimer: I own nothing. Amen to Suzanne Collins - she's the creative genius here. I am just having fun.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

_Fireworks,_ she thought. _Yes, fireworks,_ she recalled. As clear as day, the images swam in her head.  
A vast ballroom with arching grand windows. The air, thick and humid, filled with dreamy songs and delicious smells. All was illuminated in bright green, then hot pink, then cool blue. She remembered how it showed in Janix's hair. Her blonde locks had taken on whatever colour the fireworks were that night.  
Effie wandered why her head so often went back to that memory. Or why she remembered the Tribute's Ball so well as a little girl. It was strange that of all the elaborate Capitol gatherings Effie Trinket had attended in her life, the Tribute's Ball of the 47th Hunger Games was her oldest and clearest memory.  
She had worn a purple ballgown, yes - the one mother had gotten her with those sparkling crystals on the sleeves. Crystals were Effie's obsession as a child. She had made sure Katoo platted some more of them into her hair. Then again, clothing in general had always been Effie obsession. And that night at the Tribute’s ball was the first time she felt radiant because of her clothes - and important.  
Important amongst Panem's big names. Giles Pewter was the head gamemaker that year, and she had befriended his children the night. They hid under tables and ran up the staircase to get a better look of the celebration. There she recalls seeing the real life President Snow for the first time. His hair hadn't changed since that night, except for colour, of course. What a strange thought to ever picture the man young. But then there was the other people at the party too. All the past victors, and the fresh tributes, famous gamemakers and stylists and the glamorous escorts…  
And the fireworks. How the strangely the light resembled those fireworks where she stood now.  
She had been in the shower when the alarms sounded, trying to get grease out of her fingernails. However pedantically clean she liked to be in the Capitol could not be achieved in the sinkhole. No matter how hard she scrubbed, there always seems to be a layer of something under her feet, in her hair… She didn't tell anyone in fear of bad judgement, but not being able to shower twice a day freaked her Effie out.  
Someone had shouted out of the speakers, one of Coins's cronies, she assumed.  
"This is a code red alert. Please remain calm and begin evacuation protocol. Proceed in an orderly fashion to your nearest stairwell and…"  
Effie would have heard more if it wasn't for the water coming out of the shower to suddenly being be cut off. She flinched. Even from far off, she could hear someone else in the bathroom becoming all frantic: "SNOW'S BOMBING US!"  
"EVERYONE DOWNSTAIRS!" Another screamed.  
"They said to  _remain calm_!" Effie scolded, to no one in particular. She reached for her towel, thinking at what a particularly inadequate time they decided to practice the air-attack drill. Plutarch had mentioned that morning that they were going to do something like this, but she thought it was happening the following evening.  
Effie stepped out of the shower, walking towards her things. Would she have enough time to put on her headscarf?  
"Lady! _Whatswrongwithyou_?" A man stared at her in her towel. She returned his glare. He had some nerve coming into the female lavatory.  
"We all have to be on level forty in six minutes! Are you registering this? FIVE MINUTES."  
"You said six!"  
"You're making it five, woman." he snarled, "Come on, let's go!"  
"My clothes-" Effie protested. He seized her by the upper arm, making her whole form fly across the tiles. Effies's arms had been just long enough to grab her jumpsuit on the way out the door.  
"Blast doors will seal in four minutes." the monotone warned.  
There were just crowds and crowds shuffling toward the staircase. She understood the man's panic now. They were on Level 31 - as she read off the wall. And now they had four minutes to navigate down to the basement. There was so much pressure amongst the crowd she found herself in. It was almost as if she could feel it.  
Effie's first real panic came in when she saw a woman who had a child swung over her hip. She could see how she struggled to keep her balance when the staircase rattled. The walls seemed to grumble, like some vexed beast. The emergency lights flashed frantically and then a dust concrete came down onto Effie’s head. Unsurprisingly, the child started to screech.  
Effie blinked. That didn't sound much like a drill. And that's when she thought it - fireworks. The lights went out and flinched back in fear, casting strange colours on the heads of the paranoid crowd. President Snow's fireworks.

x

If there was one advantage to being a drunk, it would be that you would always be far away everyone else. Society was so ashamed of you and your existence that they always hid you away from plain sight - like an overdue bill. In the case of District Thirteen, this was no different.  
Plutarch had nicknamed them his 'drying up lessons'; his phycologist called them his 'therapy'; but Haymitch Abernathy called them his _permanent seclusion away from humanity._ Haymitch was way, way down in the hole they called a district.  
So far down lived the drunks, that when the alarm sounded, Haymitch strolled down only one level to the bunker and started helping soldiers with food and blankets. The crowds rushed in - women, children. All looking confused and tired. Haymitch was relieved when Katniss rushed in, late as usual, clinging to her sister who was clinging to a - cat?  
The ex-mentor was very relieved to see the Everdeen girls, but he didn't show it. Instead, he slurred his usual 'sweetheart' tone: "Katniss... Seems you're still kicking about."  
"I'm fine." she snapped. “Leave me be, Haymitch. I’m not in the mood.”  
He shook his head. Katniss hated it when people did that - take an interest in her well-being. She turned back to him, realizing the harshness of her words. Her face softened and she eyed him apologetically.  
"Your mother already took you both a pack." he started, "She was waiting in the doorway last I saw."  
"Thank you." Prim nodded. Haymitch eyed the hairball in her arms with a question mark. Katniss's just shook her head. As the sisters walked off, he could head the Katniss hissing to the feline: "I should have cooked you."  
Haymitch was so used to spending his days doing nothing, that this was an almost welcome change. The stiff Thirteen soldiers were not entirely happy by his presence, but Haymitch hung about just for the sake of seeing their annoyed faces. It was much better than seeing the false sympathy that the doctors and nurses of the mental ward gave him.  
With the doors sealed he he did not go find himself a bed right away. Haymitch knew there were families that needed sleep more than him - even though he doubted that anyone would sleep at all with the bombing going on the way it was. At the first vibration he concluded that he would not sleep that night anyway. The grumbling Capitol missiles caused enough trauma to eat a few nights of his sleep. Not that he slept anyway.  
"God, I need a drink." Haymitch mumbled to himself. He really did need one. Even the people who weren't alcoholics would want a glass of something in a disaster like this.  
BOOM, the earth shook. Some crushed concrete dust fell onto the floor at his feet. The cracks were getting bigger, he thought to himself. Screams of frightened children followed the sound and he gulped. It really was a shame that there was no alcohol in District Thirteen.  
At first, he thought his boney little physiologist lied about the lack of booze - another bullshit 'therapy' method that the little man read in his books.  
"No drink in the district, Mr Abernathy. It is recreational."  
No, he was not deceived. Haymitch thought the man did it to stop his lust for drink. Nope, bastard was right. He had checked. There just simply was no alcohol in the sinkhole. No casket of cider, no odd bottle of scotch lying around somewhere. No surgical spirits in the medical ward… Nothing even in Coin's private storeroom.  
"There is water." the Doctor had told him. "That's decently good for your health, Mr Abernathy."  
That remark sparked a rage in him that he couldn't quiet contain. The chair he had broken had cost him another two hours of therapy each day, but with a different phycologist, of course. Bunch of sadists, he thought. Everyone down here was afraid of two things: The Capitol and emotionally unstable grievers - which made up the entire rebel population. He didn't know if the situation was humorous or tragic, because everyone was grieving something in District Thirteen. Everyone feared everything.  
It made him think he was Johanna Mason when his sober mind came up with things like that. Haymitch was never aware of how much he liked to put words in other people's mouths - especially rebellious thoughts like that – until he came to District Thirteen. One brilliant positive thing about the bunker was the ability to freely discuss what he liked, with whoever he liked, whenever he liked.  
When Coin and Plutarch sat him down in the board meeting when they first arrived, he wanted to hush them, stop them from speaking so loud. Then, he realised, there was no Snow in District Thirteen. Here, people openly could express their anger. In fact, it was encouraged.  
He remembered when Coin first proposed the propos - he had laughed. Out loud. The very pleasure of openly, freely speaking about the system which ruined his life… it took him a while to comprehend that it was something they could actually make happen.  
The thing Haymitch liked most about District thirteen was drive between all the citizens. All people down in Thirteen had one goal: working to get the Mockingjay to cause havoc to Snow's regime. And yes, it was stressful. Coin never stopped reminding Haymitch of how important his job will be… once he got sober.  
That was where the good list ended. No booze mixed in with the grief of a lost District Twelve, and the occasional panic about Peeta's whereabouts made him miserable.  
Especially in the bunker - the very bottom of the sinkhole. The closest to hell, he though darkly.  
Snow's bombs were not pleasurable in any way. Perhaps it was his sober brain talking again, but the bombs were getting louder. 'If you kick a dog; it will bite', his mother always said. It was a pity this one was a Rottweiler.  
Eventually - ultimately - finally, the bombs came to a stop. He settled down in the furthest corner of the bunker, where there were no families around. This suited him fine. The very last thing he'd want to think of was children trapped in the war. No, where he sat there was hardly anyone with a partner. Only loners like himself lay curled on their sides, corrupted in their own thoughts.  
One person stood out to him in particular. A woman sat with her knees tucked under her chin. Two towering concrete pillars enclosed her shoulders, giving the impression of a caged animal. Besides for looking out rightly miserable, she looked cold.  
He creeped across the room, pretending to be a soldier one last time that evening.  
"Here."  
Coming up from what he recognized as sobs, the woman took the blanket he offered. "Thank you." she breathed.  
He walked away, sparing her the embarrassment of being vulnerable in front of a stranger. He had almost sat down again until the woman called him back.  
"Haymitch?"  
He did not recognize the face, and most certainly not the hair, but the accent was so unique and obvious to him that he couldn't help but sound flabbergasted.  
" _Effie_? Is that you?"  
A now slightly more recognizable face peered up at him. She giggled in a way that was supposed to be like her usual banter, but came out as something completely different. She sniffled loudly.  
"What are you doing here?" He asked, “Go find a bed.”  
More humorless giggles: "I didn't want anyone seeing me like this."  
He could most certainly see why. When he looked at this woman, it was hardly the flamboyant Effie Trinket from the Capitol he knew. He heard that she had been forced to dress duller since she came to District Thirteen, but this…  
Not only was the fabric colorless, but her face was too, and so were her eyes. The usual energetic blue was a solemn grey that reminded him of Coin. Effie's hair was stringy. Although it curled past her bare shoulders, it did so in a way that even he could tell was not at all fashionable in the Capitol. But what surprised him the most was the colour of her hair. He always imagined she'd have some or other shade of blonde under the sheep wool she wore. No, her stringy curls were black. Pitch black. It contrasted her face to make her look sickly. Ghostly.  
"You don't look okay." he mumbled, not even trying to hide his concern, for this time it was certainly real.  
"Ah, well. We did have to leave in a hurry, see." she said politely. She even made an attempt to sit up straight and push back her shoulders. "I couldn't get dressed properly."  
Effie straightened out the blanket Haymitch had given her, looking into the distance. With all her Capitol manners, she flicked some tears out her eyes and dried the fingertips on the blanket. He had seen her do the exact same thing in a different setting: some Hunger Games dinner where she cried after one of Caesar Flickerman's speeches and cleaned her hands with a serviette on her lap.  
"I'm fine." she declared, trying to convince Haymitch as much as herself.  
"I'd hate to be the one to break it to you, but it doesn't seem like it, princess."  
Even underneath the layer of hopeless misery, she managed the glare at him. He grinned.  
"Well, I like what you're done to your hair." Haymitch lied, "It looks-" he struggled for words, "Well, it gives an impression."  
Effie mood dropped. She forgot she had her hair out. Her real hair. How she hated her natural hair. Not only was it dark, but course; and bushy. She sighed, trying to get it out her face.  
"But the good kind. Like when you wore that moth dress. No- butterfly dress." he corrected.  
He wandered to himself why he even tried. This was a hopeless conversation. He could tell she wanted to be left alone.  
The sad smile was slapped off her face when another bomb dropped. This one was unexpected. It was worse than the first round because of the position that they were sitting in against the wall. Haymitch felt the actual ground it shake through him. He jumped up in distress, a hare caught in headlights. His first instinct was to move as far away from the wall as possible. To the centre of the room - perhaps close of one of those reinforced steel pillars. He wanted to find Katniss again and check on her. In fact, he was busy doing so when he remembered Effie.  
Her eyes were also round and alarmed, but she didn't budge. A second bomb hit the earth and shook. Opening and closing her eyes, Effie twitched, completely petrified.  
"Come on. Lets get away from the wall." he told her, holding out a hand. She didn't budge.  
"Sweetheart, it's better in the middle."  
"There are people in the middle." she said back. "People can't-" she twice violently "-see me like this."  
Haymitch was sparked with annoyance. "Come on, Effie." he grumbled, "You look... fine. We can get a bed." he smirked, trying a different approach of convincing her, full of his usual innuendos. She didn't even hear him.  
Haymitch had never been an affectionate man. Even before his Hunger Games the only real touch he allowed was from his mother, and later girlfriend. But it would take someone a lot harder than him so not comfort this creature. He sat sank down next to Effie, and then gently, as if petting a dangerous creature, started tapping her shoulder.  
Then, quiet comically, she planted herself against his chest. Silent sobs shook against him. Haymitch was at a loss.  
With each passing bomb, the bunker grew more silent and Effie more emotional. The ground roared so hard that he could see his shoelaces bounce up and down. Haymitch couldn't help but think dark thoughts. The cracks in the ceiling was defiantly growing - something no longer part of his imagination. He could not help but wonder if the roof going to cave in or not, and where it was going to go first.  
Thankfully, the bombs stopped for a second time - and what would be the last time that night. Haymitch braced himself for more. One thing he leant about the Capitol was that their evil never stopped. When he was sixteen he thought he was done with the Hunger Games. No, he was a mentor for countless years after that. The evil never stopped. It came back in the Quarter Quell, Chaff's death and now the bombs. It made him aggressive and angry at the world - a feeling stronger felt without the numbing effects of booze. He sat upright, biting down on his teeth, ready for more cracks to appear.  
For all he knew, it could have been hours that they sat in the corner of the bunker. Effie had not yet quit her silent crying in Haymitch's lap. He had not the slightest idea what the reason was for all of her child-like sobbing. Some of it was defiantly because of the bombing, but there was more of that. He knew that her mind she was no where near his arms or District Thirteen.  
But by the end of the second bombing he was annoyed by her crying. With no noise to distract him, her touch grew uncomfortable. He kept on having to remind him that it was Effie Trinket. It was strange thinking of her as an actual human rather than a doll. He awkwardly removed his hand from her backside.  
She must have picked up on his discomfort, because she sat up straight, looking lost.  
"You know," she spoke finally. "I did this. We did this. It was me."  
"What are you on about?" he slurred, not in the mood for other people, never mind their problems.  
"The Capitol. The Capitol is dropping those bombs. I am from the Capitol." Effie said, looking to him for assurance. "My people are doing this." she elaborated.  
He considered her. His first impulse was to be honest arsehole self and agree. But this was a distressed woman. Even Effie, without the makeup and the wigs and the lashes and the Capitol, was still a woman. At the present moment she seemed more like a frightened child, more of a human being. The situation required some tact. He shuddered at the word, and grimaced when he remembered Doctor Morgan using the same term.  
"Well, you're here getting bombed with the rest of us. Actually, it's not the Capitol at all. It's Snow." He told her, and realized after he spoke how true his words where. "The people in the Capitol are not doing anything. It's all Snow."  
"Then why do these people say 'The Capitol's bombing us?'." she asked calmly, "You should see the way they look at me when I speak. They hate me because I'm from the Capitol."  
That was true, he had to admit. Plutarch had come down to visit him once. Coming with news about how the Effie-the-Capitol-darling wasn't adjusting to life in Thirteen. He said that the people were ignoring her, and that she'd eat alone in the mess hall if it wasn't for Katniss and Prim. Yes, he could imagine the rebels hating her. There certainly was a lot to hate about Capitol folk, and he wasn't exactly that good at lying.  
"I can't help that I'm from the Capitol, you know." Effie said, her voice breaking slightly.  
"I never said-"  
"Then why do you rebels hate people from the Capitol?" she enquired, snappy all of a sudden.  
"We hate Snow and Snow's system. You people have to stop taking everything so personally."  
"Coin wants to attack the Capitol. That might mean Snow, but it also means the people of the Capitol." He had never heard speak with such urgency. "And this war." she sneered, "I have people in the Capitol. Friends, family. Now that I am on the side of the rebellion, I am declaring war on my own city?"  
"It's not your city anymore, sweet-"  
"I have sisters!" she hollered, eyes wild on his.  
He stared at her. She had spoken out of turn and interrupted him. What happened to her usual manners? Even the word _manners_ was pronounced in his head with her accent.  
"I have three sisters. Janix, Nao, Katoo… and Effie." she explained softly.  
"I am the youngest. My mother only wanted three children. I was welcome but… Effie, always a bit late. Always a bit duller that rest." Effie mumbled, a contrast to her usual optimism.  
"Janix got married at twenty-two, and Nao and twenty six, then Katoo at twenty seven. And Effie - ah, a little late. Not yet, but soon, you know."  
Haymitch frowned. It sounded like she was quoting someone.  
"Janix is an architect. Nao - a proud interior designer on Prime Street and Katoo… let us not even start. She outshines the rest of us with her businesswoman job. High up on the ladder working with District Seven.  
"But Effie- oh no. Struggling with modelling, then struggling with her studying. Oh and great… She is made escort by some miracle; except that she works with  _District Twelve._ And then at thirty-five she is still unmarried and still disappointing her parents and still being out-shined by three perfect sisters with their husbands and their careers and their children-"  
She stopped, tears welling up in her eyes. She had never really shared these insecurities with anyone. No one in the Capitol would really want to listen - not even her close friends. It was not in Capitol culture to complain about misfortunes. So when Effie glanced at Haymitch, who was from District Twelve, birthplace of misfortunes, she expected to see some form of sympathy. Nope, he looked bored with her sob story.  
"What? We all have problems." Haymitch slurred. "You're not special. Some people have real problems, sweetheart."  
It was silent for a while. Haymitch watched how hopeless, frail Effie transformed into something very different.  
"Oh -brilliant!" she snapped, full of zest. "Just absolutely-" she swallowed back a few insults. Throughout her whole life she was trained to hold back negative emotions. Anger, being that main one. "No one likes a trumpeter." she could hear her mother saying. Effie had been good at hiding anger. Almost too good. So when she started shouting at Haymitch she felt surprised and slightly scared that she even had that side to her. Right now, she was so mad - so angry she felt like she could…  
But Haymitch barely paying attention to her. He was playing with the sleeves of his jumpsuit. Effie swallowed a lump of emotion and got up. He eyed her with boredom.  
"What are you waiting for? Leave, sweetheart. I don’t want you here." Haymitch prompted.  
She always thought his rudeness originated from being drunk all the time. No - here he was. Sober as a nun and still princessing her.  
"I will not." she grunted, folding her arms over each other.  
Haymitch was almost smiling. "Neither will I." He leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head. "So, if you would like to continue your ranting-"  
"I was not _ranting_!"  
He raised his eyebrows. "Well, you should go look that up in the dictionary. Relax a little, princess. Tell me why you're angry."  
She didn't need an invitation. "You!"  
"Me?"  
"You are the one making me pretty-" she stopped, confined by two years of finishing school.  
He chuckled, "Furious? You don't say?" She felt like punching him. "What else is making Effie the escort so angry?"  
She closed her eyes. Haymitch smirked. She was trying to calm down, and succeeding. When spoke again, she was back to her normal, Capitol politeness.  
"Well, besides for your appalling attitude towards me, Haymitch, it would be Coin." she said.  
"Coin?" he repeated, amused.  
"President Alma Coin." Effie said, trying hard not to pronounce her words with such force. "I don't support her."  
He glared at her - a disbelieving glare. He had given the same look to her countless times.  
"You don't support the rebellion?" Haymitch accused, horrified. Within seconds, the nature of the conversation turned into something sour.  
"Coin does not see people. She wants to overthrow the president and she doesn't care who she hurts along the way. What about the innocent citizens of the Capitol? What about my friends? Coin sees progress and numbers; not people and their stories."  
It was quiet for a long time. "Yes, your family." Haymitch said darkly.  
An old hate arose in his stomach. The Capitol, so out of touch with reality. He knew Effie was distanced from everyone in Thirteen, but didn't think she was still so traditionally Capitol. He always suspected she was a bit brainwashed. All people in the Capitol were, but Plutarch had explained that Effie had changed, and that she was 100% with the rebellion. Haymitch's fists curled up into balls, he was wrong. This was still the Capitol doll that he spent so many years with killing tributes.  
"Today Snow is bombing us, tomorrow Coin is bombing the Capitol. I do not know if I want to be on the side that fights against my people - my family. Even if it was not for that, Coin sounds a lot like Snow to me. If you listen carefully, she wants to destroy everything that doesn't go her way."  
Haymitch could not believe his ears.  
"Oh, _I see_." he said, deliberately cheerful, "You want to go back to the Capitol to live your old lifestyle."  
"I never said-"  
"And you still want to continue being at escort for the Hunger Games, living in luxury with your family."  
"No, Haymitch-"  
"Why did I ever think you would be on the same side as us?"  
"I am." Effie tried to assure him. "Why is everyone always questioning my loyalty? Do you trust me?"  
His cool grey eyes sank to the ground.  
"You never trusted me. Even during the Games, when we were on a team." she sounded hurt. "You told everyone except me about-"  
"Well, wasn't that a good decision of mine?" he was the one shouting now, "Imagine you knew, and told some Capitol turd about Thirteen?"  
"You know that I would never betrayed the trust of Katniss and Peeta like that!"  
"That's the thing, sweetheart, I don't know that. Because tonight it sounds like you love Snow very much."  
She paused, waiting for regret to show in his eyes, but it never came. Had he never trusted her at all? Even now, when she was making propos beside him, in the same jumpsuit as he was wearing, being bombed by the same enemy as him? His jaw hardened, his eyes fire.  
She bit back tears. She was not going to do that again. Not in front of him. She trudged away, humiliated, and found another wall to sit against. She thought that she had one friend left in the world, but it seemed that was not the case.

x


End file.
